Family
by AnadoraBlack
Summary: [Set at the end of F8] [Spoilers inside] Emma Elstree has a pretty boring life, although it used to be far from boring. One day her habits are thrown in disarray as a familiar face knocks on the door. Or rather, lets himself in... [Rated T for swearing and minor adult themes]
1. The old friend

_A/N: Hi there! First incursion for me in the Fast and Furious universe. I literally just wrote this - went to see F8 yesterday and it was so freakishly good... Plus Deck with Baby Brian was too cute to handle. Hence this story, which is supposed to fit in-between the showdown in Russia and Deckard's return of the kid in New-York. Let's imagine it took a couple of days, which it probably did. Also, imagine Jason Statham changing diapers. Cutest thing ever. XD_

 _Anyhow, I wrote this in a day - yep, the whole of it, today, I'm at it since this morning and I'm a bloody machine; so excuse any typos or incoherences._

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Fast and Furious or the characters of the Shaw brothers. I only own my OC Emma Elstree and the plot surrounding her._**

* * *

 _ **1\. The old friend**_

* * *

Emma was in the middle of a phone-call when she heard it. The characteristic sound of a key being turned in _her_ lock. Someone was at her door, and was bent on coming in unannounced.

"I'll call you back, Magda," she told her caller, and ended the conversation before she could receive an answer.

She grabbed her gun from under the kitchen counter in less than a second, pointing it lazily at the door, eyes darting to her window and the fire-escape there in case anyone was trying to reach her from there. Her senses were heightened, she could feel the buzz of an incoming fight in her blood, and when the door finally cracked open, she crouched, like a tiger stalking its prey.

There were a couple of heavy steps in the direction of the living-room, and then a booming voice she'd recognize anywhere. "Ems? You home?"

Emma cursed loudly and clicked her gun's safety back into place. " _Deck_? What the _hell_ , man?"

She straightened and switched the entry hall light on, and her oldest friend on this planet blinked away the sudden brightness.

He was as tall and broad as he had ever been, with his cleanly shaved head and his ever-there stubble shadowing his cheeks. He was smiling too, a sight she had not seen in far too long.

In fact, now that she was properly thinking about it, she had not seen nor heard from Deckard Shaw in nearly… "Four years, Deck, what in the _Queen's_ name-?!"

He laughed then, a clear sound that made her smile involuntarily. "Yeah, I know. T'was supposed to be longer, though. C'mon now Ems, gimme a hug, willya?"

Emma tutted, placed her gun back into the hidden holster under her counter, and walked to the tall man, carefully wrapping her slender arms around his torso. She let out a laugh when he picked her up from the ground and squeezed the life out of her, as he used to do a lifetime ago. When he set her back on the floor, though, her brow furrowed.

"You still have my key?"

He laughed again. "Ems, seriously. I'm supposed to be in jail in the motherfucking United Stated of Assholes and all ya worry abou' are your bloody keys?" She grinned at that, realising she was maybe concerned about the wrong thing. "Jusso ya know, these are my mum's. Mine are still in the President's custody." Another laugh, and Emma noticed just how chirpy he seemed to be.

"Deck, what the hell are you doing here? Spare me no details." She crossed her arms in the manner she always did when trying to impress him, which always failed miserably.

He only leaned against the wall, his frame menacing in the hallway, if it wasn't for the toothy smile still on his lips. "I'm kinda free." He paused, and when he realised she was waiting for more, he carried on. "Someone asked me for a favour in exchange for freedom and I couldn' refuse. That's it."

"No, that's not 'it' Deck. You wouldn't be standing in my kitchen if there wasn't something else."

He produced a "Tssss…" before taking a few steps into the flat, grey eyes going to the new colour in the living-room and the new arrangement of the furniture. "Damn, does your job pay _that_ well?"

Emma growled then, and he saw it coming when she launched an arm around his large shoulders to try and place him into a submissive arm-lock. He let her, then gently twisted his body to be able to lift her onto his shoulders and gain power over her. She struggled, but she was a lightweight and had always been.

"Calm down, cheesecake," he said as he set her back down. "I'll tell ya."

She stopped screeching and faced him again, her blonde hair slightly misplaced and giving her the look of a scorned kitten. "You better."

He smiled again, and scratched his ear, something he only did in her presence when he was embarrassed. "'Kay, um… The favour the guy asked for… I kinda need your help with it."

At that Emma's blue eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Nervous laughter this time. "I kinda had to save a…well, a…a kid."

"A child? And you have them with you?" She was eyeing the corridor but could see no child in sight. "Deck…" she growled again.

"Not a child, exactly. More like a baby to be honest."

At that she exploded. "Deckard, are you telling me that you left a baby downstairs in your fucking car?"

"No!" he shouted defensively. "I didn't leave the kid alone! Are ya insane?"

Emma's anger died out as soon as she caught the protective tone in his voice. Deck was caring for the child already. It wasn't unseen, she had witnessed it once before, so she wasn't really surprised to hear it in his voice. It was more surprising to see him so red in the face after she even mentioned the possibility of him being irresponsible.

"Then where is it?" she asked more softly.

He took his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket – that guy and his suits, honestly – and pushed on one single button before he answered. "Coming right up."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, so, basically, what do you want from me?"

"I gotta bring the kiddo back to New-York in a couple o' days, just wondered if we could crash here until then."

Her brow furrowed at that. "You couldn't go to Magda's?"

He shook his head with another chuckle. "Nah, Mum's in L.A. doing some stuff and forbid me to bring a stray kid into her home."

They both laughed at that, because it was typically something that Deck's mother would say. Emma then thought of the matriarch's earlier call, the one she had prematurely ended because of Magdalene's son's appearance. Emma wondered briefly if she was going to ask for the same favour as Deckard, but then shook it off, thinking she just probably wanted to address the fact that she and the eldest Shaw brother would make such a perfect couple. Something Magda had been endlessly doing for the past eleven years.

There was a knock on the door, and Emma turned to her old friend once more, by then realising that a baby could not take four flights of stairs on its own. "Who's there with you?"

Deckard's smile turned a bit tentative. "My…brother?"

Emma let out a huff of surprise. "The same brother who refused to meet me because I was "just another gal from the army"?"

Deck moved to the front door to open it and shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

He let his brother in and the unmistakeable coo of a young child suddenly awoke the whole place. A smile appeared on Emma's lips when she saw her old friend carefully take the baby seat from the other's man's grasp and greet his charge as if it was his own offspring.

"And how are ya little man? Fancy a bit more music do ya?" She noticed the pair of headphones on the small boy's head – he was ridiculously cute, she was already doomed – and then the echo of something suspiciously familiar reached her ears.

She approached the baby carefully and eyed her friend with a smirk. "Chipmunks, seriously, Deck? You made my life a living hell with those little monsters."

"Don't be daft," he countered, "Alvin always brings joy in the world."

She shook her head before greeting their charge. "Hi there. I'm Emma. And _who_ are _you_?"

"Doesn't have a name," then came the voice of her third guest.

Emma had been purposely avoiding sight of Deckard's brother, still bitter about the rude way he had treated her ever since she met his brother. She had been invited to birthday parties, hell, even to Magda's fourth and fifth marriages, and the youngest Shaw had always made sure not to be around when she was. She had even ignored the photos Magda threw into her face at various occurrences, disinterested as she was to know what the man looked like. He had wounded her pride far too much to deserve her attention.

Arse.

When she turned around to face him and give him a piece of her mind, though, the first thing that registered in her mind was ' _Damn, he's gorgeous_ ', before she realised she was staring. But, to be fair, he _was_ gorgeous, in a much different way than his older brother's virile handsomeness. Owen had grey-blue eyes, a chiselled jaw dusted with dark hair, a mop of the same colour tousled on top of his head, and the highlight of her day, burn scars that littered the left side of his face and gave him the look of an adventurous man.

Damn. He was _so_ her type.

"Hi," she still managed to hiss. "Owen, right? The guy who didn't want to meet me?"

He had the decency of wincing at that, and she wondered if someone could actually change. She had heard so many things about that guy, about what he had done, about how many he had killed. And there he was, looking like a battered puppy.

"Yeah, sorry about that. And thanks for letting me stay."

She tilted her head to the side, smirking in Deck's direction. "I agreed for the kid, not for you guys."

"C'mon now, Ems, I know ya have two guest rooms, don't be a prick." Deckard shook off his jacket as if he'd lived there for ages – which he had, once upon a time – and Emma sighed in defeat.

"Alright. But _you_ are cooking," she pointed at her friend, who shrugged with another toothy smile. He _was_ a talented cook, after all. Emma then moved towards the baby, and back to her adult guests. "I hope you brought paraphernalia. 'Cause I don't sprout diapers out of thin air." She chuckled at the look of horror on Owen's face, and made her way to the second and third bedrooms of her flat, to prepare the beds.

She made sure Owen's room was the farthest from hers.

No other reason than to make sure the baby sleeping with her wouldn't disturb him. She had a feeling he was not fond of the kid. And she was willing to discover why.

No other reason than that…


	2. Baby bond

_**2\. Baby bond**_

* * *

Emma was totally dazed when she finished preparing the bedrooms for her unexpected guests. She wasn't quite sure that it all wasn't a very-well constructed dream. After all, Deckard had been imprisoned for the best of three years; she had never met his younger brother Owen; and it wasn't impossible that the gorgeous man she had imagined was in fact an actor she'd seen somewhere on the telly.

Except when she indeed came back into the kitchen, Captain Deckard Shaw had his shirt sleeves rolled up on his forearms and an apron tied around his waist; there was a baby cooing away in his seat, still listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks; and there was a gorgeous piece of man standing in front of the kitchen window, giving her a good peak at his backside.

She moved to her friend and picked up another apron to help with the cooking. He watched her with a smirk, and she shrugged before addressing what he no doubt was thinking. "You never said he was _that_ good-looking…"

"I'm no' really the best judge when it comes to my brother's looks, Ems."

She smiled back and picked a carrot where he had left it, taking a big bite out of it. "What are you cooking, then, Cap'tn?"

"Irish beef stew, Sergeant," he answered with another toothy smile. "I kinda remembered t'was a favourite of yours."

"It was and still is. When _you_ cook it." She left the counter, thinking she'd do more bad then good by helping him anyway, and moved to the child who had been left to his own devices on the couch. "Let's see how you're doing then, little pal."

She picked the infant up, noticing how young he must have been – no older than six months, by her calculations – and noticing how grinny he already was.

She couldn't help but melt. "You are such a cutie pie, you… Come on, let me show you around." She started pacing around, the child safely tucked on her hip. "This is the living-room. You'll spend some time here. I wonder if I can find you any toys around the building. I could ask Marie downstairs," she thought out loud. "And this is the kitchen, and Uncle Deck is cooking-"

"Don't call me tha'," the broad man hissed.

"Shush." Emma smirked. "Uncle Deck is mean, but don't mind him, he's a big teddy bear." She continued her stroll, big brown eyes staring at her the whole time. "And this is Owen. He likes brooding, by the looks of it." She smirked again when the younger brother turned to look at her with a scowl on his pretty face. "Make sure to puke on him when it's his turn to feed you the bottle."

She turned to stroll elsewhere but his voice stopped her, and the ice in it made her freeze. "I won't be caring for that kid. He's not my responsibility."

Emma looked back at him with one brow raised, and when she met Deckard's gaze afterwards, she realised there must have been an explanation for that snap.

"So, have you brought any baby bottles? Baby milk? Diapers? Change of clothes?" she asked when she reached the kitchen again. That baby was an angel – he was barely fussing.

Deck shrugged. "I grabbed a bag but I don' really know wha' was in it."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Men…" she cursed before placing the baby on the couch. He still had a small toy in his hand, which upon further inspection appeared to be a plushie mouse. She moved to the duffel bag that had been left in the corridor and placed it next to her charge, commenting everything she found in it.

"Ah, lookie here, we've got nice blue pyjamas – let me remind your parents when I meet them that Power Rangers is a bit overrated though – a couple diapers, an empty bottle, two teddies, and…ah, this is what I was looking for, a baby blanket!" She raised it over her head in sudden victory, and the child looked at her with wide eyes before breaking into laughter. He was showing a single tooth and Emma found it utterly adorable.

She turned to Deck once more. He was chopping vegetables away but had a small smile on his lips, hint that he had been watching her the whole time. "I haven't got anything resembling a cot, though, where's he gonna sleep?"

Deck shrugged. "Look it up on the Internet, idiot."

She rolled her eyes again, before looking back at Owen, who had resumed his silent staring out the window. She addressed his brother without stopping her thoughtful gazing. "Watch the baby for a few minutes, I got an idea. Owen, you're coming with me."

She had turned around before the other man had time to answer or look back at her, but after a moment, she heard his hurried pace as he caught up with her in the entrance of the flat.

Emma quickly checked herself up in the mirror – she hadn't put any makeup on that day, didn't need to – and when she was satisfied, she looked up at the man who was suddenly very _very_ close to her. Close enough that she could see the green freckles in his irises.

"What's this about?" he asked in an icy tone.

Emma forced a smile. "We're gonna pay a visit to one of my neighbours. She's had a cohort of kids and I'm sure she has a spare cot somewhere. But she doesn't really like me. So you will be the bait." He raised a brow, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips. "She's a sucker for pretty eyes."

He did not comment, but sighed nonetheless. "I don't think I'm anyone's type. Not with-" he gestured aimlessly to his face, and Emma frowned, realising he was talking about his scars.

"Don't be an idiot," she said before pulling him by the arm into the building's carpeted hallways. She lead him up one flight of stairs and one door to the right, and knocked before clearing her throat.

She plastered her most charming smile on her lips before the door opened and revealed Sabrina, her Italian-born neighbour. Her flock of kids had pranked her countless times and the two women didn't really like each other because of that – Sabie hated when she was told how little authority she had on her offspring.

"Hi Sabie!" she said in a cheerful tone.

The older woman eyed her with pursed lips, but her chocolate brown eyes lit when she saw Owen. Emma internally cheered – her plan had worked. "Hello, Ems. What can I do for you?"

Emma gestured to her companion, and noticed the gentle smile he had directed at Sabie. She felt some sort of uncomfortable pang settle near her stomach, and recognized it as jealousy. She shook it off as it had nothing to do there, and continued with her plan. "Owen here paid me a secret visit today, and he brought his godson with him. He's the cutest thing ever, but I realised I don't have a bed for him to sleep in. He's only six-months old, you see. So I wondered if you had a spare cot for _us_ to borrow?" She had emphasized the 'us' in the knowledge that including Owen in the begging would win her some points.

There was a replacing of long brown locks and a look of profound reflexion on Sabie's face, but then Owen smiled even brighter, and said "I'd be so much grateful, really. I don't want the poor dear to sleep in his car seat, it'd be so uncomfortable…"

He was a good actor, Emma thought.

Sabie's face lit up again, and she grinned. "Of course I'll help! Care to come in, I'll show it to you…" Her eyes were dancing on Owen's frame, and Emma fought against laughing. It was so pathetic, the way she was moving her hips as she entered her flat.

She remained where she was and gestured Owen to follow Sabie. "Go. She'll be even more generous if I'm waiting here."

A glint of something appeared in his eyes but he did as she asked, and after about fifteen minutes of waiting, he erupted from the flat, the cot secured in his arms, beddings added to the pile as a bonus.

Sabie was pointedly staring at his bottom as Emma turned to thank her. "Thanks so much, Sabie. I owe you."

"Mmh," the other woman said. "Gimme his number and we'll speak no more of it."

Emma chuckled but another pang of something sprang in her chest. "I will once I get it. I promise." She thought well to add, "He's the brother of an old friend. They're both here, actually." Sabie didn't seem interested at all, and she waved her goodbye before following Owen back down.

He was waiting in front of her door with an unknown look on his face, and when she produced her key to unlock the door, he leaned in, his breath on her neck and a shiver climbing up her spine. "You owe me for that stunt."

She turned her head slightly, ignoring the flutter near her stomach when she noticed how close they were and how defined his scars were. "Considering how you've been treating me for the past ten years, I think we're even." She unlocked the door and let out a breath when she entered the flat and was freed of his icy gaze.

Damn, living with that guy under the same roof was going to be hard…


	3. A secret job

_**3\. A secret job**_

* * *

Deck did not ask anything about the cot or how Emma had managed to get it. When he laid the table and served dinner like a perfect houseman, they ate in perfect silence except for the peaceful breathing of the baby who was asleep on the couch, his baby blanket safely wrapped around his chubby frame.

Emma was pointedly ignoring Owen and his icy glares, but she could feel his eyes on her. She couldn't guess if he was angry or something else, and didn't wish to look up to find out. She already didn't like what the man was making her feel; she didn't need to deepen her problems.

"Let me," Deck said when she offered to put the baby to sleep in her room. He took the infant into his arms with such tenderness and care that she couldn't help but smile at the sight. He was such a natural. He'd be such a good dad. Too bad a life of violence and prison had not given him a family yet.

She heard a scoff and couldn't help but meet Owen's grey eyes as he looked at her. She silently asked for an explanation to his behaviour, and he looked back down at his unfinished meal. "How long have you two been screwing each other?"

Emma, had she been any other woman, would have scowled and probably lost her temper at his crudeness. But she merely shrugged. "About the same amount of time you've been a nice guy. Never." She took a sip of her red wine, admiring the red tinge reaching his cheeks as his anger rose.

"You're such a manipulative bitch! No wonder why I couldn't care to meet you before!"

Emma raised her brow, taking the insult with grace even if there was a pang of hurt in her chest. "Wow. If Magda could hear you, she'd put you to bed without dessert right now." At the mention of his mother, his temper seemed to retreat a bit, and she took advantage of it. "Not that it's any of your business, but Deckard and I have only ever been friends. He's like family."

Owen rose from his chair and moved to leave the room, but he met with his brother's wide frame when he returned from putting Baby Cutie to bed. "What's goin' on here?"

Emma shrugged, rising from her chair as well to dispose of the dirty dishes. "Someone is persuaded that you and I are having an affair." That was putting it in more polite words, actually.

Deck looked at his brother and his characteristic growl echoed around the room. "You're such a baby, Scarface." He slapped his brother on the back of his head and Owen stalked to his given room, muttering insults under his breath.

Emma was amused by the nickname, and the smirk on her face told she also was amused by the retreat of the battered puppy. She was putting the dishes into the dishwasher when Deck settled his apron above her head on the counter. "Forgive 'im, he's been hit on the head too many times recently."

"I don't mind," she answered. "He's been an arse to me even before we actually met."

"About tha'," he said in a lower voice, "I'm sorry for imposing on ya."

"You're not imposing, Deck. You're the oldest friend I've got. You're family. Even if you'd asked me to hide you from the police I'd have said yes." She smiled at him and he smiled back.

"How you've been?" he finally asked, and she shrugged.

"As you can see, Thomas' gone. Had his fill of me after fourteen months. Said he wanted someone more 'sexually experienced'." She chuckled darkly. "That asshole was my first, can you imagine the nerve? Anyway," she carried on, shaking the thought of her ex off her mind, "I'm still working at the veteran association. It helps, talking about stuff."

"Nightmares?" he simply asked.

"Less than before. I still think about that day you stopped me from walking on a mine and it ended up taking Samir's legs." That had been traumatic to say the least. She could still hear the sound of the bomb exploding, of the flesh tearing apart, of her brother-in-arms' screams. And she could still see the blood. Everywhere, the blood…

Deck wrapped an arm around her in comfort. "At least you got out o' there before I did."

She nodded, and revelled in the comfort her friend provided, thoughts of wars and missions and blood and death pushing back from her thoughts as she made her way to her own bedroom.

The peaceful slumber of her youngest guest helped her find her own sleep.

When she awoke the following day, Emma's first thought was about the baby. He had slept through the night, only waking up once before cooing back to sleep once she lulled him in her arms. Had he slept okay? Was he hungry? Did he need changing?

Then she remembered what day it was, and what she needed to do on that precise day. She cursed, but a promise was a promise, and she wasn't one to back down.

She got dressed in silence, smiling when she saw Baby Cutie still sucking on his teddy and fast asleep, and she made her way to the kitchen, only briefly stopping in front of the second guest bedroom. She didn't even know why she did.

Deck was, unsurprisingly, already up, and had already cooked breakfast. Emma sniffed the bacon pan loudly, which made him smile. "You are the perfect flatmate, you know that?"

He smiled wider. "We tried it already, Ems. Didn't work ou' in the end."

"That's because you and my stupid boyfriend didn't get along," she moaned in pleasure when she sat in front of her full-English breakfast. It was a treat she didn't have time for anymore. "I need to go out into town for a couple hours. I'll probably be back around 1pm."

"That's a long stroll," he smirked. "Anyone I should be made aware of?"

She huffed. "Nope." She stretched her back, sighing when it cracked. "I promised a colleague that I'd step up for him today. He teaches kick-boxing and he's at his grand-father's funeral."

Deckard stopped chewing on his black pudding. "You don't know kick-boxin'."

She glared at him playfully. "I can teach them something else. It's only three times one hour."

He shrugged. "It's good o' ya to do it anyway."

"A promise is a promise." Something passed between the two of them, memories of their time at the front, of their own promises to each other; but also nostalgia of a time that had seemed so much simpler.

They finished their breakfast talking about nothing in particular – apart from Deck's moaning about the federal prison's orange suits – and Emma kissed him on the cheek before grabbing her bag and jacket and leaving the flat.

It was strange how they had stepped right back into their former routine. After being discharged, she had moved to London, had used her money to rent a cosy three-bedrooms two bathrooms apartment; and he had moved in without a word, while regularly leaving on jobs she later learnt to be bounty-hunting. He'd cook, sometimes he'd repair something that was broken, and on Fridays, they'd go to the pub.

It had been a routine most people viewed as being that of a couple's, but their friendship had not even once veered on that side. Not once. They had always seen each other as an equal, as a brother, as a sister, and that was that. She supposed fighting alongside each other and taking care of each other's injuries did that to people.

She took the Tube with her thoughts drifting from Deckard to his latest achievements to his brother. She remembered the day he had called her and told her his little brother Owen had been in an accident. She remembered telling him that he'd maybe deserved it, after what she'd seen in the news. She remembered trying to convince him not to seek revenge.

She remembered the day she'd received his first call from prison. She had been so mad, that day, that she'd hung up before he even had time to explain.

And now she had accepted him back into her life without much of a fight, as a piece of puzzle that had found its match after looking for it for too long.

Deckard Shaw and Emma Elstree were meant to be together. Even if not as a couple.

She thought of Magdalene as she followed Erik's directions into Upton Park's underground station. Deckard's mother had been trying to get them together for as long as she'd known her, and yet, Emma had done nothing else than explain it'd never happen. Why was Magda so obsessed with getting her into the family?

Maybe she thought she'd be the element of wisdom, the person to tame her son, to calm him down. She couldn't be more wrong.

Emma vividly remembered the mission that had brought them to Somalia, the mission where she asked Deck to kill a pregnant woman in cold blood because she was their weakest leverage. Sometimes it made her sick to think of it. Some other times, she remembered it had helped them win that battle.

The dojo was where it was supposed to be. She quickly explained her predicament to the receptionist, who frowned but accepted her help when she said she didn't want any money, and directed her to the 'classroom'. About three students were already there, one man and two women ranging from their twenties to their fifties.

She greeted them and sat down to warm up under their critical eye. Her moves were nothing close to kick-boxing. About a dozen more people joined in small packs in the next minutes, and when Emma counted sixteen – the number she was supposed to teach – she started.

"Hi everyone. My name is Emma, I'll be teaching you today as Erik is unfortunately indisposed. I'm not familiar with kick-boxing, but I thought I'd give you a peak into a martial art which I favour – karate."

There was a low buzz of chatter in the next seconds, some students sighing in defeat while others seemed genuinely interested. Emma stood her ground. It was only one hour, after all.

During the next three hours, she taught the basics, correcting postures and explaining how karate could help with their balance and therefore with their boxing. Some were more receptive than others, but it mattered not.

The last class was a class of advanced pupils. Most of them were studying several martial arts at the same time, and some naturally asked Emma for a spar early on during the lesson. Most were men, intrigued perhaps by her small but sturdy figure, and convinced, like many men, that a pretty face could not be effective in combat.

Emma was not perfect, she got hit a couple of times. But she hit back, sending her opponents to the tatami as often as she managed, and the end of the lesson was all in good fun. They laughed, apologized for the bruises and cuts provoked on each other, and parted joyfully.

Emma was smiling as she packed her things. She knew she'd have a bruise on her left cheek and a cut right under it, as well as a couple more cuts on her knuckles, but it had been worth it. She had let out some steam, and it was not often she could do that nowadays. Her only adversaries were sandbags and invisible men by then.

"You're not that bad, actually."

Emma froze as she was pulling her shirt back over her singlet. She could have felt self-conscious that Owen Shaw had watched her fight, watched her undress and redress, but in fact, there was something else nagging at her mind and making her blood boil.

"You _followed_ me?" she hissed as she whirled around.

He was in the shadows by the door but there was no mistaking his voice. "Yeah, I admit, I followed you. Wanted to know what kind of traitor you were. I was expecting you to go to the police or something."

Emma chuckled darkly before turning around to finish packing. She sat down to put on her shoes. "You are the biggest moron I ever had the misfortune to meet." _And to set my eyes upon_ , she thought bitterly.

Owen took a pace forward, his features appearing in the neon light. Emma's breath caught in her throat when she noticed his eyes falling on her eyes and the glint of something – hurt? – shining in them right after. "Who did that to you?"

Emma stood, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "That's called sparring for a reason."

She made to move past him but he side-stepped, making her collide with his chest. One of his hands steadied her by the arm, while the other gingerly rose to her face. She winced when he grazed her bruise. Her eyes met his defiantly, but he was looking at her with something she could describe in his gaze. The green freckles in them seemed to have multiplied suddenly, and his pupils were slightly dilated. She could almost count the number of hairs on his jaw, and she swallowed noisily.

"That'll need to be taken care of," he said in a gruff voice.

"Not by you," she answered before managing to walk past him – bumping into his shoulder as she did so.

Bloody hell he was too handsome for her to think properly…


	4. Scars are beautiful

_**4\. Scars are beautiful**_

* * *

Deckard took care of Emma's minor wounds as soon as she got through the door. His daddy instincts kicked in as soon as his grey eyes fell on her bruise, and he scolded her for all the while he applied ointments and band-aids and such.

Owen had followed her back home, but had resumed his silent 'standing by the window' thing. Baby Cutie had been cleaned, changed, and put into clean clothes by his surrogate-dad, which had made Emma smile affectionately at the mountain of muscles that was her friend.

"Wha'?" he had said when she had noticed the soapy scent of their young roommate. She had merely laughed and taken the child for a walk around the flat once more.

Deckard had only once been like this with a kid. It had been in Costa Rica, about six years prior, when on a mission. Emma and him had sought help from a local family. The father had been killed within two days, and the mother had been grieving so deeply that they had had to take care of the four kids while she recovered. The eldest, at fifteen, was blaming them, of course, and had run away, alerting the bandits they had come to arrest. Eventually he had been wounded but had been given back to his mother alive. The next two, at ten and seven, were more vulnerable and had clung to Emma for dear life for near on a week. She had had a hard time letting them go in the end.

But the youngest had been a mere thirteen-months-old baby girl, and despite everything that could be said about him, Deckard had taken a shine to her almost immediately. He had taken care of the babe like a father to his child, and had been rewarded with a 'Deckdeck' that remained his official nickname for a long while afterwards.

As far as she knew, the family had been moved to Mexico a few months after their mission. They were safe. Or so the MI-6 had said.

The second day ended with another meal cooked by Deck, and as the previous day, they all retreated to their rooms in silence. Baby Cutie awoke twice that night, and once with heavy cries that sent a bolt of worry right into Ems' heart. These were the cries of nightmares. And six-months-old babies did not need to have nightmares.

Deckard told her the following morning that the boy's mother had been shot right next to him. She did not return to the room for a while after that, preferring to punch the sandbag in her study until her knuckles hurt before she did.

"So, when are you all leaving?" she asked at lunch, while she was feeding the baby. He was holding the bottle on his own, staring at her with his big brown eyes while she shifting her weight from leg to leg to lull him.

Deck was staring at his computer screen. "I've go' plane tickets for tomorrow afternoon." He eyed her. "Bu' I don't have to stay there for long. I'll come back after, if you'll have me." He smiled, and she smiled back.

"'Course." She looked at the child in her arms once more and sighed. "I'm gonna miss you little chap." The baby let go of his meal and smiled brightly at her before resuming his suckling. Seriously, he was too cute.

There was a gruff at the window and she didn't have to look to know who it was. Owen was standing in his spot – since when had it become _his_ , though? – and didn't even turn around when he said "I'm not going."

Deckard sighed. "You don' have to but Mum would like ya to."

His younger brother shrugged. "I don't care what Mum wants. She'll be back here eventually and then she can fuss over me all she likes. I'm not going and I'm not seeing those bastards again."

Emma's brow furrowed and she turned to Deck for an explanation, but he shook his head as if to say 'later' and she did not push the matter. "Very well then, ya can stay here until Mum comes back."

"Hey!" Emma suddenly burst. "At least ask me my opinion before you force someone upon me like that!"

He merely smirked. "He doesn' have anywhere ta go and we both know ya can't resist my pouty face." He proceeded with said pouty face, and Emma burst into an incontrollable grin. Damn that guy and his face. "See? Owen can stay, can' he?"

She looked over at the lean man by the window and tilted her head to the side. "Can he cook?"

Owen turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze, his retaining some of that mysterious glint, and looked away again.

"Not for the life of him. But he can drive."

Emma remembered he could drive. He had driven like a devil in London's streets not so long prior – three, four years? She remembered the images on the news. She remembered the video of his car zooming through the streets.

Now that she knew what the man looked like in the flesh, she didn't know if she found it sexy or appalling.

Probably the former.

When Baby Cutie was put back to bed and the door to Emma's room left open in case he woke up, Deck announced that he needed to go somewhere to gather some things for the trip. Recognizing in that one of his infamous 'don't ask' behaviours, Emma indeed didn't pry, and soon, she was left alone with Owen, who had miraculously moved from the window to the bookshelf.

Except he wasn't looking at the books, but at Emma's photographs. She suddenly felt self-conscious, and cursed herself for keeping some of those pictures, though she didn't really know why she was worrying.

One of these photos was of a teenage her, with her by-then alive parents, Mick and Joan. A few months before the train crash that had killed him immediately and her a few hours later. Her blonde hair was dyed purple at that time, it had been hideous but the smile on her face eclipsed its ugliness.

Another one was of her military training. She was in the uniform – her helmet a big too big for her – and a big grin on her face there again. She must have been nineteen in that, if she recalled well.

The third and fourth one must have a bit of sour taste for him, though. They had both been taken during Magda's fifth wedding's party. In the first she was dancing with Deck, both sporting stupid grimaces on their faces; the second was with Magda, whose cheek she was kissing.

She realised those two photos could be interpreted as being family photographs. And that Owen would probably burst into rage telling her she wasn't part of his.

But she was, even if he had ignored her for the eleven years she had known his brother. She was an orphan, a soldier, a killer, and the only peace she had found was in the Shaw family. He wasn't going to take that away from her.

But he was staring at the photos without uttering a word, his jaw jutting from time to time and his hands tensing in his jean's pockets, but that was all.

"Why don't you like the baby?" she let out with any reason whatsoever.

He turned to face her, his face set in stone, his stare ice cold as often before. "None of your business."

"Considering we are alone with him here, I'd say it is my business. I'd rather not turn around and find him dead the next minute."

"I wouldn't kill a child."

"You've killed others before," she blurted, knowing she was stepping over an invisible line.

He was in her face in a second, his hands two fists beside him, his eyes two icicles trying to freeze her. But she merely took a defensive pose, feeling the fight brewing inside him. "Don't think I wouldn't kill you."

"I know you would. That's what criminals do. They kill without reason."

He was so red in the face she thought of a kettle about to implode. "I am _not_ a criminal!" he spat in her face, and she closed her eyes for a second under the force of his aggression. And still he had not touched her.

"You are," she said calmly. "You are and you took your brother down with you."

His eyes widened in surprise, and he leaned back a notch. "You…you really think that?" he laughed joylessly. "My brother, the same man who assassinated people on a list without even asking why he needed to do it?"

"Your brother, the same man who was so heart-broken after you had your accident that he put himself in danger just for the satisfaction of avenging you."

"My _accident_?" There definitely was something dangerous in the way he was looking at her, and Emma's hand moved slightly to the left, where she grabbed her gun under the counter without him noticing. Which was an achievement in itself. "My _accident_ , you complete moron, was me thrown out of a plane and into a fire by that kid's father!" He was breathing heavily, no doubt trying and failing to keep his temper down.

Emma did not back down. "You got what you deserved." And yet a part of her thought that his fate had been too painful, too wrong. He had been a criminal and a murdered, that was true, but so was she. Even if she had the scars to prove that sometimes she did get what she deserved.

Owen snapped then. He brought his hands up to catch her neck, no doubt to choke her, and she blocked one arm with her own while the other threw the blunt side of her gun towards his face. He dodged, throwing himself at her midsection instead and knocking the breath out of her. Under his momentum she tried to bring her fists to his back to make him let go, but already she was on the ground, and he was grabbing one of her decorative bronze trinkets to ram into her skull.

She did the only thing she could think of. She threw both her feet into his gut, but instead of just knocking him back as she expected, he doubled over in pain and brought a hand to his abdomen with a yelp of pain.

Emma sat up, adrenaline leaving her body as she realised the fight was over – he was injured. She could see his light blue shirt being stained with blood on his left side, and although she should have been happy he was in pain, and should have left him there – he had tried to kill her, after all – she was worried.

She stood up and showed him both her empty hands before setting her bronze elephant back down on the cabinet. She eyed his hand gripping his shirt and the blood staining both, and then she sighed.

"Come with me…"


	5. Weakness

_**5\. Weakness**_

* * *

Owen Shaw was by any means a predator. He had stalked numerous preys, had killed some, had used some, and had fucked some. Emma was very aware of that fact as he followed her into the guest room, hand still gripping at his wounds, eyes still throwing daggers at her.

Emma gestured for him to sit on the bed and he complied, and he hurried to the adjoined bathroom to fetch what first aid supplies she needed. When she returned, he was still eyeing her like a tiger watching a man bring him his supper – there was knowledge that she was helping, but also knowledge that _she_ could be his next meal.

"Take your shirt off," she commanded as she unscrewed a bottle of disinfectant.

He hissed, "Are you fucking kidding me?" before leaning back on the bed with a wince. "You gave me this, bitch, I'm not letting you near me again! Leave that shit here and leave me be!"

Emma glared at him again, reminiscent of the fight that had just occurred. "You listen to me you asshole." He didn't utter another word, stunned, probably, that she also could be rude. "You made my life a living hell these past four years. I haven't seen the likes of my best friend ever since you decided you wanted to be a gangster. So you owe me. Because during that time, I had to cope with PTSD, nightmares and violent fits that only he could soothe. So right now, think for a second that you got what was coming, and take that fucking shirt off."

Silence. As words sank in. Then "No."

"Owen, I swear to God I'll wrestle that shirt off of you if you don't take it off willingly. I'm not taking it nicely to people bleeding on my stuff."

"No."

Emma put the bottle down on the dresser and approached him. He stood, backing off further into the room as she advanced on him, until he had nowhere to go and she was almost nose to nose with him – which implied him looking down, as she was rather smaller than him. "Take it off," she whispered, the order sounding less angry and more something else as she said it.

The green was back into his eyes, eating at the grey slowly. His breath was uneven, pain sinking into his flesh and blood leaving his body as rapidly. "No."

"You Shaws and your stubbornness, honestly," Emma cursed before she raised a hand to his stomach and got a hold of the red-stained fabric.

His eyes suddenly widened and he tried to shy away from her, but not out of pain, out of…fear?

Emma took a pace back, shunned into silence. "You are…scared of me?"

He huffed, but it lacked gusto. "To hell I am!" He winced again. "I don't…I don't let people see."

"See what?" But as she asked, she understood. His scars. He didn't want her to see his scars.

That idiot.

"Okay," she finally said after a couple minutes of stalemate. She thanked whomever was listening that the baby was still napping. She turned to close the door, then back to him. "I'll show you mine and then you show me yours. Deal?"

Owen seemed not to understand for a moment, and truly, that proposition would have been indecent anywhere else, but as Emma reached under her dress to roll her stockings down her legs, he slowly nodded.

As he sat back down on the bed, Emma's legs came into view, and came with it two remnants of bullet-holes perfectly aligned near her ankle. It was accompanied with smaller holes. She traced the scars with her fingers while putting her foot next to him so he could see better. It made her dress hike up her thighs, but thankfully he was not into that kind of mood.

"A bullet, medium-calibre. Ran right through my leg and shattered the bone. I had it reconstructed and had to walk with pins in my leg for four months. Afghanistan."

She put her leg down and then realised where her next scar lay. It meant she had to raise her dress further up than her…hips, and it made her blush. Fortunately, she was adept of wearing shorts under her clothes, self-conscious as she was, and as she raised the fabric and her tone stomach came into view, she felt his breath itch.

The scar. It must have been the scar. The ugly jagged line that ran from her right hip up until it reached her sternum right beneath her bra. "A knife thrust up into my guts by a boy merely seventeen years old. Argentina."

She lowered her dress in a hurry, hiding her form from him once more. She noticed his eyes kept staring at where her skin had been seconds before, and she grabbed his free hand to distract him.

She brought it up to her neck, right under her left ear. The scar had faded to view, but one could still feel it when looking for it. Once upon a time it had run almost all around her neck. "Some guy tried to choke me with a rope. Almost succeeded. That was in Taiwan." She let go of his hand but his fingers kept tracing the harsh angles of the scar.

How their behaviour had shifted so quickly… Moments before they had been at each other's throats, air thick with tension of another genre than right now. Now Owen's touch sent goose bumps on Emma's skin, and his grey-green eyes were staring at her as if she was no longer dinner but dessert.

She moved away before she did something she'd regret. "Your turn," she said softly.

Owen stared at her for a moment, and then reached for the bottom of his shirt, wincing in pain as he lifted it above his head and discarded it, leaving his chest free for inspection.

Emma noticed the wound before anything else registered. It was a scar, she was certain of it, and her kick had reopened it. It wouldn't need stitched, but he'd need to be careful for a few days.

When she sat next to him to disinfect the wound, though, she had time to notice the rest of him.

Owen Shaw was gorgeous, that, she had realised upon first glancing at him. But seeing him half-naked was not helping some mature thoughts from invading her mind. She could understand why he hated his scars, for they ran from his left shoulder to his navel in irregular patterns, but the rest of him was flawless to say the least.

Apart from where he was burnt, his pecs were dusted with dark hairs, and his abs were well-defined though not too visible, which she found to be fake and not attractive in the slightest.

She appreciated the rippled in his muscles and his hiss when she dabbed the wound with the liquid, and found herself smiling.

"You know, I've tended to far worse wounds than this in my time."

He met her eyes, the scar on his face highlighted by the ray of sun that fell on it. His eyes had retreated back to grey-blue, and she had to swallow to forget how beautiful he was. "Have you?"

"I have. I was officially the paramedic in our team. Deck got his fair share of injuries, I did too, as you noticed earlier, but most of those I tended to were too far gone." She paused. "One guy had been burnt as severely as you were, but he did not survive. I tended to him for five days, but his body failed him in the end."

"I apologize. For earlier." It was sudden, and almost too low for her to hear, but she did hear it. Their eyes met again, and Emma realised that some people could change, when they had seen Death right in front of their eyes.

She wasn't sure Owen Shaw had changed that much though. But he could apologize. That was a first.

She smiled as she wrapped a clean bandage around his chest, trying to ignore the little jolts of desire that shot through her every time they touched. "I apologize too. I haven't really been the friendliest since we met." She secured the bandage with a knot, and suddenly, the air was too thick to breathe.

Owen's eyes were boring into her and she was dimly aware of her chest brushing against him as they were so close to each other. She tried to think of something else – of Deckard who'd soon come back from his errand; of the baby sleeping next door – but she couldn't.

And suddenly, Owen brought his lips down on hers, his hands running down her sides, gripping her thighs and lifting her to him as if she weighed nothing. She let him put her down so she straddled him, and her hands went to his cheeks as he continued kissing her with pure lust. As he tried to force his tongue inside her mouth, Emma moved away breaking the contact.

That wasn't what she needed. Lust, a one-night stand, a loveless tryst. She didn't need any of it. What she needed was a man who could understand, protect, and be with her.

She felt Owen could be that man, if given the chance.

So, as he opened his eyes to take her rejection in, Emma leaned back down to kiss him again, but that kiss was nothing like the previous. It was a gentle touch of lips, a caress on his face, mingled breaths and shared emotions.

He pulled back after she counted five seconds.

She moved off of him, straightening her dress, and touched her lips gingerly. Then she smiled. "I'm sorry, I guess we don't want the same thing."

The pang of rejection stung in her blood as she got out of the room. Baby Cutie was awake, and he'd provide a welcome distraction after what had just happened.

She couldn't get it out of her head even for one second that day and the next.


	6. Goodbyes

_**6\. Goodbyes**_

* * *

Emma ignored Owen's existence for the remainder of the day, focussing instead on the baby in her charge and on the strange feeling of loss she felt when thinking of him leaving the following day.

She spent the whole afternoon playing with the babe and watching him sleep, and when dinner was served – this time take-away, as Deck had had several phone-calls to make regarding the flight – there were playful coos and toys thrown on the table as they both ate.

"Where's my brother?" Deck asked, eyeing the empty plate with a frown. Emma shrugged, refusing to look her friend in the eyes, knowing he'd figure her out immediately. "What got his pants in a twist again?" he growled, standing as if to fetch the missing member of their strange family.

Emma stopped him with a raise of hand. "Leave him be, Deck. If he wants to eat, he'll do it later. He's not a child anymore."

The older man tssed and sat back down, enjoying his sushi in silence.

When they both put the baby to sleep, Emma turned to her old friend and placed a hand on his broad shoulder. "What time do you need to be at Heathrow?"

"11 at the latest."

She sighed. "Alright. I'll accompany you."

"You don't have ta." She sent him a look and he smiled faintly. "I promise ya'll see him again. His bloody father will want ta know all abou' you as soon as we land."

She smiled but knew it was a pious wish. From what she had heard about Dominic Toretto these past three days, he didn't strike her as a compassionate man. It was anyone's guess why his son was that sweet…

Morning came and Emma had not managed to get one wink of sleep. Her thoughts had danced between plane crashes, baby deaths and stolen kisses all night, and she had tossed in her bed until sun rose.

To be faire the thought of Owen's kisses had her more flustered than the rest. It had left her in a state of weakness that she did not like. He had some sort of leverage on her now, and she wasn't ready to let him use it. Especially since he had essentially been avoiding her presence ever since that moment.

He obviously was not thinking of her as a potential partner of life. Rather like a quick bang.

It made her bitter.

Deckard found her punching away her frustration in her study at precisely 9am.

"Hey cheesecake, ya ready? We gotta move."

She wiped sweat from her forehead and a pang of pain reached her when she saw the baby in his car seat, ready to leave her probably forever. "I'll be there in a sec." She hurried to the bathroom, splashed some cold water onto her face, and ignored the tall dark-haired man who was waiting with his brother in the entryway.

The ride to Heathrow was silent safe for Emma's quiet talking to the baby next to her. He was looking at her with his big brown eyes and she wondered if he'd remember her at all. She wished he did, and at the same time she felt like remembering her would bring him pain eventually, so she wished he wouldn't.

The airport was buzzing with people bent on going from point A to point B and soon, they had to part. Emma took Baby Cutie out of his seat for a quick snuggle, hugged the life out of Deck and made him promise to visit her again soon, and she watched as they disappeared into the crowd and towards security check.

She wiped a sole tear when she turned around, ignoring the man at her side once more before heading back out and hauling a cab. She was feeling empty, as if this kid's existence had made hers brighter. And it had, for a while. She had been a mum, perhaps an auntie, and she had loved it.

And Deck had come back to her side as if he'd never left.

The ride back was as silent as the previous one, and when they entered the flat, the silence was deafening and making Emma internally weep. She clutched at her chest while dropping her keys on the counter, and she was about to go to her room and flop down on her bed sobbing when she heard "I'm leaving" coming from the door.

She had almost forgotten about Owen, and when she turned to face him, his grey eyes and his beautiful bastard self, she wanted to lash out at him out of frustration.

She did not answer and he took a step towards her, his deep breaths making the fabric of his shirt tighten on his chest. Her thoughts went to that particular chest when not under clothes, and her heart pace quickened.

"I said I'm leaving."

"And I heard you," she answered in a small voice.

His eyes were taking on a bluer tint this time, in contrast to the grey and green that seemed to be their usual colour. "Emma, I am leaving, and I won't come back."

He had said her name for the first time since they had met, and it should have moved her, but he was baiting her, trying to make her drop to her knees and beg him to stay. Which she was not going to do.

She turned again to go to her room as she had intended, but a hand on her arm stopped her and moved her back towards him and his tall frame as he stood too close again. It struck her then that he liked to do that – forgo any personal space and stand too close. "Say something, for fuck's sake! I am leaving!"

"I know what you want me to say, and I won't say it. I'm not a toy to play with. I'm not a woman you'll play with for a time then get tired of and discard at the first opportunity."

His eyes widened, and the blue retreated into the green. "Who says I'll play?"

"I know you. I know how you treat women. I had a peak of it yesterday."

"Yesterday I didn't understand shit!" he snapped, his hand gripping her upper arm a bit more strongly. "Yesterday I didn't understand what I was feeling until you were out the door and back into bitchy mode!"

She sneered. "Don't try to make me believe that you were feeling anything else than lust yesterday. You were going to bang me, sure, and then what? You'd have left, just like any other time."

"You don't know that."

"Then prove it to me."

She was begging, she realised too late. But she was begging for something else than just him staying. She was begging for him to be different, to be changed.

He stared at her and her at him for a long moment, and she got tired of it.

"I don't know you that well, but I know your family. And I know what they think of you. They'd be waiting an eternity for you to just be willing to accept their affection. I won't be like that. I'm not going to wait until you think you can actually feel something for me."

"You don't have to wait," he said calmly. "Ever since I stepped into this flat, I felt something. You're infuriating and I want to kill you most of the time I'm in the same room as you, but for some reason I don't want to comprehend I'd also like to spend time with you."

It was completely out of character, Emma noticed. Completely. And yet it got to her like a time bomb. Ticking away until it took her life from her.

She stared at him and he at her for long moments again.

And then she simply said "Alright then" and it was all he needed.

All he needed to pull her to him and trap her there with his arm around her waist. He didn't wince when she pressed against his wounded side, as he was already taking the breath out of her. His kiss was more urgent than the previous day, if that was possible, and when he finally tangled his tongue with hers, he tasted like the coffee he'd had that morning. Emma moaned into his mouth without wishing to, and her knees gave in as her own hands travelled under his shirt to touch at his marvellous chest and explore the skin there.

As the day before, his hands travelled down her sides and picked her up by the thighs until she was in his arms, legs squeezed around his mid-drift. His kisses were intoxicating, and she scratched at his back in a wish for release when that bastard had the nerve to push her against a wall. He hissed in pain and she grinded her hips into him in retaliation, and he smirked against her mouth.

She didn't even let him speak whatever sassy retort he had in mind, pressing her tongue into his own mouth and raking it along the back of his teeth. He groaned and picked her up again, moving towards the bedroom at a speed that was inhuman for someone injured.

They were going to explore each other's scars and try to learn each other and try to tame that strange feeling that stretched every time they were together in a room.

For a split second just as Owen sank into her flesh, Emma thought about Magdalene and how wrong she had been – she wasn't perfect for Deckard; she was perfect for Owen.

And he for her.


	7. Epilogue: Baby Brian

_**Epilogue: Baby Brian**_

* * *

It took Deckard approximatively two minutes to guess that his brother was banging his best friend. The tension in the room was palpable the moment he stepped in, and he'd have bet a good amount of money that they had been making out just before he arrived.

He smirked and laughed, though, and didn't get angry one bit. Emma deserved some guy better than that dick, Thomas or other, who had broken her heart and taken with it her virginity. That it was his brother was inconvenient but not bad in itself. Owen needed someone like her to heal and come back to the joyful bastard he'd once been. And Emma needed someone like Owen to keep her on her toes and make her get her violent side out of her from time to time.

His mother would not stop talking about it once she heard…

He relayed the good news of having delivered Baby Toretto to his bastard of a father, and settled back into a boring life which now included living with his best friend and his brother. Who now slept in the same room.

A few months passed, and he had found a job as a consultant for the C.I.A. – thanks Nobody – and Emma had Owen help her with the veterans. It seemed to work out for him too.

So it was on a very boring day that he received a phone-call, and gathered his two flatmates into the kitchen right after.

"T'was Toretto," he said, and didn't miss when his brother tensed. "The kid's birthday is coming up and he wants us there."

Emma's brown eyes widened but a smile formed on her lips right after, and he knew she'd be delighted to see the little monster again – he couldn't wait for her to have her own and at the same time Owen as a father would be a catastrophe waiting to happen. "When?"

"This weekend." Which gave them two days to book flights and pack.

Owen shook his head. "I'm not going. Besides, I doubt they invited me out of charity."

"They invited all three of us," Deck answered, glaring at his younger brother. Always willing to make a fuss. "Now grab your own ass and choose your flight seats."

Emma was so excited that during the six hours' flight Deck wished nothing more than to knock her out cold. She was checking the time every two minutes, was grinning like a damn fool, and she was asking either he or Owen about the plushie giraffe she had bought whenever they had counted ten.

"Are you sure he'll like it?" was the main topic, and both brothers had to struggle to shut her up. In Owen's case, it meant a lot of saliva-sharing. Which Deckard didn't want to witness.

Dom's terrace was as packed as it had been a few months back when he had delivered the munchkin, and he was delighted to see that Luke Hobbs was there for him to taunt – that bunch of muscles was so dumb he was an easy target.

The child greeted him as if he'd seen him all his life, which made his heart swell in pride, and when he stole it from Letty, Emma's smile brightened. "This is Brian. Brian, you know Emma."

She approached the kid whose big brown eyes hadn't changed, and Deck witnessed the tentative approach. She was somehow scared he wouldn't remember her.

Until he laughed loud and clear and said "Ma!" before outstretching his arms for her to take him.

All in attendance witnessed his friend as she took the boy into her arms and started chatting away as if they'd never been apart, and Deck wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, he who stood very uncomfortably, watching his girlfriend coo over a bloody kid.

"Well, bro, you're screwed."


End file.
